Victorious Secret
by ExodusofDreams
Summary: Shelby Marx was a rising MMA star. She had glory and fame. Tori Vega was a talented student that everyone adored. The problem: Shelby was Tori's alter-ego, a decoy to allow a life free from the spotlight. What happens when these two personas collide? Will Hollywood's Arts and her friends learn the truth? Will Tori be able to keep her secret or will it be revealed to the world?


**Disclaimer: **I do not own Victorious, iCarly or any characters from either show. Of course, this is a work of fiction. This is_**not**_a crossover!

**This story is tentatively rated T. **Due primarily language, and themes in the upcoming chapters. As always check my profile for update status.

**If anyone is familiar with MMA matches/moves/fights PLEASE MESSAGE ME!**

**Please review. **The more reviews I get the more motivated I become and the faster the updates arrive.** So, if you don't want me to take weeks (or longer!), make me smile and click the button!**

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**Chapter 1**

The preparation that led to this point was incredible. Both fighters were at there best. Both fighters had dominated their previous opponents. Both fighters had never fought each other. The problem was simple: these two apex predators were meeting in a competition in which only one would remain victorious. Neither was going to be that loser.

However, being prepared and being realistic were two completely different things. Shelby Marx knew that full well going into this matchup. She had heard stories about the champion, of course, but had never had the change to fight her one-on-one. And the combatants couldn't be any more different.

The simple fact was that no matter how talented or much training she had done it was obvious to everyone that she was the underdog in this competition.

Not only was Amy Johnson older, she also had a significant height advantage. She was a wall of muscle that stood tall at six-feet and struck like a battering ram in the same way a freight train slammed into a compact car stuck between the gates at a railroad crossing. Of course, there were no gates in the ring but there were corners and they were just as effective. Amy simply overpowered her opponents and those that didn't find themselves in a debilitating hold found themselves unable to fend off a furious pummeling courtesy of a ferocious female.

The champion's strategy was designed around these traits: to literally dominate via sheer clout. To accomplish this there was a cost, she sacrificed speed and flexibility so that when she was able to grab a hostile fighter she could bend or twist them in a way that wasn't pleasant; ensuring a victory.

That didn't mean that Shelby Marx was helpless, much the contrary. As with any great athlete she didn't dwell on conditions that she was powerless to control. Instead she focused on the simple reality that Johnson was stronger and had longer arms and legs. Simple physics meant that, in a contest, the other girl would be able to hit things – namely her – from further away. However, that also meant that while she had longer reach, it would take fractions of a second longer for her arm or leg to return to a neutral position. Fractions of a second too long that would provide the miniscule but-oh-so-crucial opening for a body trained, honed, primed and designed around lightning fast, powerful strikes.

_For those of you just tuning in! This match just begun and already it is turning out to be a great match! Look at these fighters go! And Marx barely dodges that kick from Johnson. You can really tell that both competitors are giving it their all!_

The two fighters started out circling each other, throwing light, fast jabs or easily blocked kicks at the other. Testing the limits and abilities of the opposing girl. As with any opposing forces, inevitably the two were destined to clash and that occurred just around the one-minute mark. The live audience coming alive as Johnson, striving for a quick victory rushed in for the kill. She fully anticipated that Marx would, like all the others block a few then fail at the majority and either fall to the floor to tap out in a painful hold. Or, in what was Amy's favorite and preferred method, hit so hard that it was a complete knockout.

_And there goes Johnson. You can tell from the expression on her face that she is moving in for the kill ladies and gentlemen! I'd really hate to be Marx right now! This match could be over soon folks!_

That was the truth too, a full three fourths of Johnson's competitors never made it through the oncoming physical volley. With the agility of a velociraptor, and with all the lethality Johnson closed the distance between them and made her move. The flurry of fists and feet came at Marx hard and fast, and she was forced onto the defensive. Arms met arms and legs met legs as the two engaged in a dangerous dance that saw Marx, much to the shock and awe of Johnson, counter and reciprocate. Strike for strike the two were evenly matched. Neither refused to be forced into the corner or trapped against the side of the ring.

All to the energetic screams and chants of the audience. Countless other's watched riveted on television screens as Johnson's fist crashed into the side of Marx's head. Pain erupted in the girls' cheek but fueled by adrenaline and years of tough training that was every bit as much mental conditioning as it was physical Marx never allowed the strike to slow her for a minute. Johnson discovered this as she received a fast crescendo of kicks that punished her stomach and kidneys.

_Look at Marx go! Johnson certainly wasn't expecting that kind of attack! You can see the concentration on both girls' faces. Ohh! And Marx connects yet _again_!_

Although the enthusiasm from the announcer was slightly in favor of the challenger Shelby Marx, Amy Johnson was at least as tough as her competitor. The few hits that Marx was able to land did nothing to slow her down. Aside from blocking or dodging, Using a tried and true tactic that had fooled more then one opponent Amy purposely allowed Shelby to hit her in the face. The savage punch had the desired impact and Amy faked as if she was more seriously wounded then she really was, purposely backing off and away, lowering her guard just a hint as if a bit dazed.

Like a moth to the flame Marx did take the chance, closed the gap and was about to try once more when, well within easy range from her competitor, Amy took the opening. With the speed of a cobra she lashed out using any and every limb available to attack. Shelby was surprised by the sudden turn of events, but even more surprising – for Johnson – was that Marx was able to block the majority of her strikes with her forearms.

Skilled Shelby might be Johnson was able to connect, and do so powerfully.

_Ow! That looked like it hurt! Shelby takes a punch to the gut! Once again ladies and gentleman you are seeing the height advantage that Amy Johnson has over Shelby Marx._

In her mind supposed that it was only a matter of time before _one_ of those strikes hit. Although, according to the roars of the audience, it looked like a devastating blow, in reality she was more then prepared.

Johnson, however like Marx, knew better, it was going to take much more to down her opponent then what amounted to a "glancing" blow.

What it did do was make Marx angry, very angry. She stayed fast on her feet, leaning to the left, then right, ducking away from a roundhouse before closing the distance. Inside the other girl's engagement circle she was able to land a variety of strikes to the stomach, kidneys, and face.

Amy, surprised by the quick move isn't prepared and suddenly finds herself under attack. Pain sprouting from the places she cannot defend. A one-two strike from a hard fist and then a foot to the side of the head causes her to stagger back even further.

_And Shelby gets the upper hand! Johnson had better do something quick or this match is over ladies and gentleman!_

Indeed that was true. Her vision was blurry for a second, blood flowing from a cut above the eye and her lip.

The audience didn't seem to care and screamed in approval, chanting. "Shelby! Shelby! Shelby! Shelby!"

Unfortunately Amy had not become the champion by being defeated so easily. Although she was bruised and bleeding the girl was still standing. Although her guard was lower it was still up. Although she saw multiple Shelby's, she could still distinguish the one in the middle. Using her long and powerful legs. The taller girl used her height advantage to once again to turn the tables on her opponent , as Marx was moving backwards, dancing on her feet.

She lurched violently to the left mid-stride, and felt a fist clip her shoulder. A ring of pain blossomed as she skipped to the right as Amy advanced; eyes glowing like a hunter who knew that they have their prey.

Amy might think that Shelby was going to be her next victim but she refused to be killed. The high kick to the side of the jaw, despite knocking her to the mat did not keep the nimble girl down. Amy was just about to pin Tori to the floor when she is back up and her fists and feet flew.

Unlike Amy, Shelby relied on being agile. Her punches and kicks were not the most powerful but they did the job and in lightning fast moves. Shelby's flexibility was nothing to underestimate either. Many an opponent discovered that bending her into a pretzel accomplished little but make her very, very angry.

This was a lesson that Amy apparently had not taken to heart yet since she was forced backwards, desperately trying to block and dodge from strikes that appeared from out of nowhere.

That was the other component of her strategy. Marx always made sure that she was on her toes. Above all that was the one thing that her trainer would never ever let her forget: be mobile. If you were moving you were much harder to hit. If you don't get hit you couldn't be pinned or made to submit. If you don't get pinned or made to submit, then you don't lose.

Tori jumped back at the last moment, dodging a fist to the face. She wanted to scream, badly but couldn't because of the mouth guard.

Amy did was well, but for a different reason: she was in pain. Irritated that Shelby Marx was still standing she lunged for the other girl, trying to initiate a clinch; a maneuver that forced the opponents to grapple, locked hand and hand, arm to arm. Shelby though, did not cooperate and hopped backwards just in time. The second required for Amy to move fully back upright and into a defensive posture is half a second too long. A powerful uppercut rams into the other girl's chin and bottom lip. Instantly her head snapped backwards as blood trickled down her chin from a cut lip.

_The champion is reeling folks! We could be seeing a new champion emerging very shortly if this keeps up!_

Indeed that was Shelby's idea. She was even able to sneak in another punch and kick. However, the problem for was that despite she being able to hit Amy, it was apparent that beating her to a pulp likely wouldn't work. Especially since the other girl was still fully capable and willing to score a few hits of her own. And, unfortunately for the challenger, the strength and power behind those perilous fists meant that it required several hits by Marx to equal the damage that one of Johnson's caused.

With the clock to round one winding down Shelby decided it was time to take a risk. Using Johnson's obvious disorientation bowed her head, and like a football player rammed her shoulder into the other girl. The momentum carried her forward enough to take Amy off her feet. She landed on her back hard, with Shelby on top.

_The challenger has Johnson on the floor! If she can lock in a hold! This match is over!_

A furious Amy Johnson was doing everything possible to ensure that _didn't_ happen. Unfortunately the position was terrible for her to retaliate. Aside from hitting Marx on the back, or sides there wasn't a lot she could do. The angle was wrong to make meaningful contact with her face and Shelby wasn't far enough down – sitting on Amy's stomach – for her to be able to propel the other girl off. That left countless weak punches, frantic wild squirming and knees to Marx's back; something that the other girl was able to dismiss with great ease. Further aggravating Johnson was that her opponent wasn't exactly being stationary.

Unfortunately for Marx, Johnson had spent a sizable fraction of her training for situations just like this one. While true that the challenger had the upper-hand this was due strictly to Johnson being caught off guard, and allowing her anger to take over rather then focusing on the event – namely being bent in ways that the human body wasn't ever designed to do. Additionally, the sheer effort and energy that was being expended by Marx was considerably more then Johnson was using. Sheer physics would ensure that the smaller girl, unless something changed, would capitulate and have break the hold.

While not immediately noticeable from the audience Johnson was not only seeing this facet, the strain, the sweat and the weariness, worse, she was able to _feel_ it. Familiarity in the ring meant that all she had to do was simply wait, and then the match would be hers. She resisted the urge to grin by deciding to test Marx's resolve. By wiggling side to side she was able to gather momentum, just enough to loosen Marx's hold. Not nearly enough to free herself, but enough to get the leverage needed to raise her knee up and under the other girl.

Shelby's eyes widen in horror knowing instantly what was coming and she was powerless to stop it.

The announcers are incredulous as Marx went airborne. _And Marx is airborne! Johnson has propelling Marx off her with such strength that the challenger is airborne! I _can't _believe it!_

Neither can the audience and they collectively 'Ooohhh' Marx hits the cage that surrounds the rings, bouncing off that and landing back on the ring floor in a heap. Small trickles of blood from the newly created scratches in the metal versus skin match clearly indicate the winner.

Shelby wasn't terribly hurt; she was caught utterly by surprise. The time needed for her to return to her feet was more then enough for Johnson to return and deliver an atrocious kick to the center of her chest. Unable to get her guard up in time Shelby takes the hit full force, her spine cruelly meeting the chains again as Johnson follows up with immediately with a knee and punch that left the challenger reeling.

Unwilling to give up the advantage Johnson took Marx to the floor and places the girl in the same hold that she herself was in not that long ago.

Shelby Marx didn't have a chance. The combined assault spaced so closely together with no reprieve had drained her energy and sapped her strength. She was counting on that last hold to have ended the match, and unhappily for her, the strategy failed.

Pain burned in Shelby's arms, shoulder, and back, escalating by the second as Johnson increased the torque on the joints. She made one final attempt to free herself and earned an elbow to the kidneys for her trouble.

Unable to escape and with no options Shelby did the only thing she could, she tapped frantically against Johnson's arm. There was no point in having tendons and ligaments torn apart all for nothing. There would be another day when victory would be hers, just not today. So she tapped.

_Shelby Marx has tapped! Shelby Marx has tapped! This match is over folks! Amy Johnson, with nine seconds in round-one remaining has won! She retains the Championship!_

Instantly Amy let go and stood to the deafening cheers from the crowd. Still shocked at the sudden loss Shelby didn't move. The pain, sweat and blood of the last few minutes was all for nothing and the internal barrage she was giving herself was far worse then what she went through in the ring. So wrapped up in her thoughts she didn't even notice the ungloved hand being offered to her. That was why Amy gently tapped her on the shoulder.

Shelby took the offer and smiled as she as hauled back to her feet by the champion.

You're one tough chick Marx." Amy said.

Having no need for the mouth guard Shelby took hers out and tossed it to the side of the ring.

"You are too." Shelby responded, still smiling. "Congratulations on your win.

At this though, Amy frowned a little. "Thanks, but to be honest, I don't care about the championship."

"Oh?" Shelby arched an eyebrow at the former competitor, thoroughly surprised. Most fighters only went for top price and the money, and fame that went along with the title. "Then what does matter to you then?"

"Having a kick ass match." Amy said, amused by look that Shelby was giving her. "It isn't everyday that the someone is able to hold their own."

Shelby shrugged. "I didn't though. I lost to you."

Amy nodded. "Don't sell yourself short Marx. You're a good fighter. You weren't down and out within the first minute! You wouldn't believe how many people don't make it through that first rapid fire punch-kick combo that I tried on you."

Shelby shrugged again, but continued listening, interest peaked.

"So yes. You lost Marx, but in my book you're a winner. I look forward to the day that we fight once again." Amy winked at the other fighter. "So you had better keep training. Next time, I'm going for a TKO."

"Well," Shelby doesn't completely see the joke in the words. Having someone admit that they were completely interested in, instead of making you tap out, they'd rather beat you into a pulp bad enough that you black out. "That's… a charming thought."

Amy smirked, pleased by the startled expression on Shelby's features.

"But I will keep training. One day, it will be you and me once again. And that time, _I'll _come out on top."

"You're welcome to try." Amy promised, extending her hand a final time. "Name the time and place and I'll be there."

Shelby got the message and sealed the challenge, the promise of a future match with a handshake. "Next time Johnson, TKO. And it won't be me lying unconscious on the mat."

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Tori was a normal girl. She went to school. She had friends. She even played a sport. Tori also had a secret; a very deep secret that started when she turned fourteen. While other girls her age played basketball or softball instead Tori fought. She had been fighting for years in a junior circuit. It was only a matter of time before someone realized her talent and potential as a professional MMA – mixed martial arts – fighter.

That was when she made her secret. To continue to have a life, one free of the drama that inevitably came with fame she, along with her mother and father created an alter ego; Shelby Marx. _Shelby_ fought in the ring. _Shelby_ met the fans. _Shelby_ trained for hours at a time. Plain old, boring Tori went to school as if she never did anything as crazy as travel around to knock someone out. Tori was one girl with two personas.

That was also why her mother was trying to stop her currently uncooperative daughter from squirming. "Stop moving your head! I'm trying to stop the bleeding on this cut on your lip!"

For what seemed like the millionth time Tori resisted, and tried to pull away. "Mom! But it _hurts!"_ She strained against the unrelenting, vice-like hand that held her chin hostage.

"Tori Vega!" Her mother scolded once again. For someone who is able to take multiple punches to the face you aren't very tough when it comes to first aid!" Hand flexed again as it forced Tori's head to tilt into a different angle, the alcohol pad dabbed quickly at the new spot.

"Mom!" Tori hissed, fresh fire igniting already tender nerves.

"This wouldn't hurt so much or take as long if you just kept your head _still!_" she insisted once again to her recalcitrant daughter. "Tell me again how you can take being in the ring day after day but you can't take a simple disinfectant?"

"Usually because a few punches only hurt a lot for a few seconds and then it is gone. Those pads you insist on using _burn_ forever!"

"Oh come now! They aren't that bad." Deanna said, before nodding her head in the direction of an ice pack. "Take one of those and hold it to your ribs. You've got some swelling there too."

"Oh really? How about I punch you a few times in the head and then _I can_ play doctor with your face?" Tori suggested hopefully, an evil glint in her eye. She didn't say a word in protest about the ice, mostly because, unlike the former, the cold felt good on the superheated skin.

"Ha. Ha. Ha." Her mother responds in a monotonous tone. "Nice try tough girl. I may be getting older but I haven't lost all my marbles yet to fall for that ploy."

"Fine." Tori pouted, and crossed her arms about her chest with indignation. Tired of fending off her mother's advances she simply allowed the woman to have her way with her various wounds. At the very least she _was_ right. Although being dabbed at constantly with a pad that felt like molten lava being poured on a mosquito bite from Hell, it _did_ go faster.

"Look Tori," Deanna said. "I know that this isn't your favorite part, but at least you didn't get pummeled too bad this time. You should be able to go to school without looking like you got mugged."

"No makeup session?" Tori asked hopefully.

"Of course there is a makeup session, but definitely a lot shorter." Deanna confirmed for her daughter, finishing up with the last spot. "Now go take a shower and get ready for bed. I'm sure you're tired after today."

Tori didn't even have to respond as she yawned. "That sounds good. I'll see you in the morning mom."

"See you in the morning, honey" Deanna stretched while sitting down in a chair, taking one of the heat packs, this one warm and placed it on her forehead. _Good thing she didn't use these this time. Now I can enjoy them!_ She moaned in contentment. Mending her daughter's, while rewarding was an energy drainer for sure.

"Hey Mom?" Tori said, stopping just before going up the stairs. Seeing her mother relaxing already half asleep in a chair made her roll her eyes.

"Hmm?"

"Love you."

"Love you too Tor. Go get some sleep." she responded. "You have an early day tomorrow, and don't forget to ice again!"

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